


In The Desperate Avoidance Bare Arm

by Blanca_Angelic_Loveless



Series: In A World Without The Trench Coat [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Possessing Claire Novak, Female Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 21:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11517639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanca_Angelic_Loveless/pseuds/Blanca_Angelic_Loveless
Summary: “That's pretty nice timing, Cassie.” Dean thanks her.“We had an appointment.” She responded, her usual monotone not quite so.Dean wouldn't say the angel was beaming, exactly but he could definitely see the hint of a smirk playing on her lips. He places a hand on her shoulder, taking in her height, or lack thereof, her hair all pulled back onto a single French braid, and her relatively nice attire. He tries not to let the suddenly glaring absence of the pea coat, and her subsequently bare arms bother him, but they do slightly. “Don't youeverchange.”(The first half-ish of season 5 rewrite with claire!castiel)





	In The Desperate Avoidance Bare Arm

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really plan to finish this, because I'm just really not interested in supernatural anymore, but I've felt that way before, so I might come back to this and finish up eventurally, but for now, here's this. I wrote it mostly on my phone, snsits not really edited  
> Sorry.

Sympathy for the Devil

As quickly as the pain had come it was gone.

Castiel’s consciousness is the first to return from oblivion, and because of this she's aware as every atom of her Grace is stitched back together carefully, lovingly. She feels warmth surrounding her now much the same as hers had surrounded Claire Novak once, and before she can fully appreciate the gesture of comfort, or pounder from whom it comes, her peace of mind is broken and she begins to search within herself for the soul of the child. Castiel panics and begins to fight the warmth when she cannot find Claire. She succeeds in escaping about as well as fly caught in a trap of sticky paper.

She screams mournfully for her charges, her song unburdened by the child's mouth, and it terrifies her to realise she's no longer in her vessel. The Something that traps her speaks, its voice pressing farther down on her with a sense of peace and calm down and remember. Imagines press into her mind of standing in the Prophet's living room, preparing for a battle that was lost before it even began, of being hugged, and strange words said which she can't recall. As the memory of her apology to the sleeping soul inside her is pressed into her mind it dawns on the angel just exactly who must be holding her now. Her Father is hugging her.

Castiel struggles again in the embrace, twisting and turning to face her Father, though he has not returned her sight. She feels as if there's something she's missing, as if there should be some bigger revelation to her Father's embrace other than that she now knows her father has been watching her, and helping to her, and holding her, but what more could there possibly be than that?

More images come, distracting her, and they give the little angel pause. She sees Claire, sitting in her dining room eating dinner with her family, more family than just her mom and dad. There are more adults her parents age and and one's even older, who must be Aunts and uncles, and grandparents. There are two other children, both boys and younger than Claire, who is quite young herself, and the whole family are sitting around a feast with their heads bowed as an elderly man says a pray.

Thanksgiving, Castiel realises. She's being shown a memory of Claire's, of a happier time in her life. Then Castiel realises this is Claire's heaven. Claire is dead. The angel goes still, as she has no idea what she's meant to be doing now. Her job is done, she's taken the Winchesters as far as she could in their efforts to avert the End, and a child is dead due to her failure.

The heavy and overwhelming thought of No presses into her again and she recoil from what she perceived is her Father's anger at her disobedience. She cries out sorry sorry sorry! and resumes her fight to escape yet again.

The warmth that is her Father turns to a burning fire, hotter than anything Castiel, who's flowing inside of stars, has ever felt and it scorches her newly reconstructed Grace. More memories invade her mind, of Sam and Dean this time, at St Mary's. They're watching the blood of the final seal form the door to Lucifer’s cage. The image flickers and again she sees them, on a plane now as Lucifer escapes, looking confused and terrified all at once as they watch the devil spread his wings and fly off in search of his vessel. Before she can process that what she's seeing means both boys are alive and that her Father Himself was the one to rescue them, she hears or any vessel, and sees the image of a man asleep, all alone in his bed. All alone in his house.

But then there's more, and Castiel begins to think time may still be short, as it always seems to be lately. Angels are on earth and they've found Sam and Dean. One angel, Zachariah, Father informs her, is mocking them, torturing them into submission.

The Michael Sword, she's told, and the vision blurs until only Dean’s bloody face is clear in her mind’s eye. Oh. Dean isn't just the Righteous Man. He so much more blessed than that- or is it cursed?

Continue, Father says to her and then He let's her go.

Castiel falls and falls, for miles, unable to right herself without her sight. It's not until every drop of her Father's warms has left her that her sight returns. She's near to Earth, and looking down, she sees eastern Africa far below. Knowing there is little time to waste with her fall (or the thought of how much of a fall this really and truly was), she spreads her wings intent on finding a new vessel, but something catches them and binds them close. She tries to break freak, but nothing works, and her falling becomes a plummet. For the first time in billions of years, since nearly the first time she took flight, Castiel’s afraid she's going to hit the ground. Then the atmosphere begins to constrict all around her, pressing tighter and tighter in, and she cries out, in fear more than pain, because she doesn't understand! She goes blind again, and the rest of her fall goes unwitnessed but for a few little humans who happen to be making wishes on a shooting star.

The next time Castiel can see, she's already hit the ground. When she opens her eyes, she sees the nights sky above her, in all its flat, blurred and near-monochrome ugliness with which she saw every non-living thing when she saw them through mortal eyes.

Sitting up Castiel examines herself only briefly. It doesn't take but a glance at the grey sleeves adorning her skinny arms, and the silly blue top covering her flat-chested torso to know she is in the body of Claire Novak once again. It doesn't even take a glance within herself to know the Claire is not with her, and that she is alone in a vessel all hers own. The silence and the coldness that occupy the space a soul ought be is gaping and missable. It's only later, after she's taken many journeys to Heaven, Hell, and Oblivion itself where upon her return she didn't have to concern herself with the life of a vessel, did she realise what a blessing she'd been granted.

For now she only takes note of the wrongness within her, and the odd weight up one of her sleeves. Carefully, from where she remains sitting in a crater in the middle of the African wilderness, she pulls from her sleeve a long and beautifully polished Angel killing blade which had not been up her sleeve before. Examining the blade she realised that the handle was smaller that most, though the blade was as long as any, and it fit comfortably in her had.

Her Father has given her a weapon to use against her sibling, Castiel realises, and then she remembers His command to Continue, and that her Charges are in danger. She spreads her wings, no longer constricted by the formation of her vessel and stabs one of her brothers holding the Winchester’s captive clear through the stomach with her blade before she's even properly landed on her feet.

Good God Y’all

It doesn't take long for Castiel to come to the understanding that while for whatever reason her Father wanted her to continue her work against Heaven's plans, He didn't not recreate her being with the ability to work independent of the Host. In short, Castiel's angelic abilities are incredibly limited while her brothers and sisters shun her for her actions. Never mind that she must have been the one to do something right if Father was willing to bring her back to life so readily, she thinks bitterly as she dials a number into her newly acquired cell phone.

“Cell phone… Warrior of God…” she grumbles as the phone rings in her ear, oblivious to the looks she gets from the other occupants of the dollar store. She walk out the door and around a corner so she can fly without causing a scene as soon as she has an address.

“Hello?” Sam finally answers the phone.

“Hello, Sam.” she greets him.

“Castiel?”

“Yes. Where are you and Dean, I need to speak with you both in person.”

“Ah, St. Martin's Hospital. Why? What are you-”

She hangs up and flies that way. Of course there are about nineteen hospital names St. Mary’s in the United States and it takes her a few seconds to search through four of them before she finally finds the correct one.

“Cell phone, Cassie? Really?” is the first thing Dean says to her. “Since when do angels need to reach out and touch someone?

“You're hidden from angels now,” she looks up at Dean with the perfect expression of judging-you many a preteen has looked upon their parents with. Dean will find this hilarious later when he's over being offended. “All angels. I won't be able to simply-”

“Enough chit-chat!” Bobby Singer calls from inside his hospital room. Dean, Sam, and Castiel turns to the man sitting in a wheelchair. “Get over here and heal me.”

No one moves. Bobby looks over his shoulder towards the angel. “Well? Anytime now.”

“Do not speak to me as if I were really a child to be bossed around!” Cassie snaps. “And... I can't.”

Bobby turns his chair all the way around to face her. “Say again?” he growls.

Castiel walks up to Bobby. “I'm cut off from Heaven and much of Heaven's power. Certain things I can do. Certain things I can't.”

“You're telling me you lost your mojo just in time to get me stuck in this trap the rest of my life?”

“I'm sorry.” Castiel rubs her knuckles together. She doesn't know the correct way to specify her regrets for both his condition and her inability to help.

“Shove it up your ass,” he barks. “And give me my wife's damn coat back.”

She supposes he wouldn't want to hear it anyway.

Castiel and Bobby watch each other as the angel carefully pulls her arms out of the grey pea coat and hands it over. Bobby snatches it from her as soon as it's in his reach and turns back to the window, holding the coat close.

“At least he's talking now.” Dean turns to Sam.

“I heard that.” Bobby doesn't sound nearly as mad as he is.

Castiel walks back to Sam and Dean near the door, tucking her angel blade, no long able to be hidden up her sleeve, carefully into the side of her jeans and untucking her shirt to cover up the hilt still sticking out. Not the most convenient way to carry a weapon, but it'll have to do untill she can purchase a new jacket. “I don't have much time. We need to talk.” 

“About?”

“Your plan to kill Lucifer.”

“What? You want to help?”

“No.” Castiel denies flatly, crossing her arms. “It's foolish. It can't be done.”

“Oh. Thanks for the support.” Dean nearly roll his eyes.

“But I believe I have the solution.” Cassie hurries to say, rubbing her fingers absently up and down the fading goose flesh of her newly exposed arms. “There is someone besides Michael strong enough to take on Lucifer. Strong enough to stop the apocalypse.”

 

“Who's that?” Sam questions.

“The one who resurrected me and put you on that airplane. The one who began everything. God.”

The brothers share a twin looks of skepticis.

She understands honestly. But He wants her to do this, so He wants it done. Cassie understands that it's unlikely He will help, else He would be here, else she would have been allowed her sight in His presence. Still, she will only except His unwillingness to help when she hears it from His voice. Either way, she will talk with Him, and either gain an alley or answers.

“I am going find my Father.”

Needless to say, Dean more than disapproves of such a time wasting activity, and he makes it very clear that she ought to spend more time helping them hunt Lucifer.

“I killed two angels this week.” Cassie snaps. “My brothers. I'm hunted. I rebelled. And I did it, all of it, for you, and you failed. You and your brother destroyed the world-” Sam looks to the ground in guilt. Good.“-and I lost everything, for nothing. So keep your opinions to yourself.”

“You didn't drop in just to tear us a new hole. What is it you want?” Bobby barks, turning back to face all of them.

“I did come for something. An amulet.” The angel tells them stiffley. “Its very rare. Very powerful. It burns hot in God's presence. It'll help me find Him.”

“A God EMF?” Sam asks, incredibly interested now.

Cassie nods.

“Well, I don't know what you're talking about. I got nothing like that.” Bobby says, his resentment still obvious in his voice.

“I know. You don't.” Cassie looks at Dean, then drops her gaze to Dean's amulet, and back up.

“What, this?” Dean places a protective hand over the little amulet Sam gave him once when they were little.

“May I borrow it?” she hold out her hand.

“No!” 

“Dean.” Cassie say, trying to convey the seriousness with which she's making her request with her tone alone, cursing the limited communication of the mortals tongue. “Give it to me.”

Dean stays silent for a moment, realizing Cassie is very serious, thinking it over. Well if anything, he can sympathize her disire to search for her missing father. He takes off the amulet.

“Alright, I guess.” He holds it out, then pulls back when Cassie reaches for it. “Don't lose it.” Instead of placing it in Cassie’s waiting hand, Dean steps closer and slips the amulet over her head until it rests around her neck.

“Great. Now I feel naked.” Dean says while Cassie is still looking down at his amulet, pulling her braid out of the string.

“I'll be in touch.” She flies off now she's got what she came for.

Free to Be You and Me

Castiel search near to everywhere for her Father. She starts out on Earth, searching from the Apostolic Palace in Vatican City to New Mexico. When that failed she widened her search. She searches the moon, and then she searches the sun. Then she searches the canyon's of Europa when she can't think of anywhere else. She tries a few parallel universe, but she doesn't risk too many, as she wouldn't want to jump into one without a proper connection to her own and leave herself stranded forever. She is unsurprised, honestly, to find him nowhere, yet somehow the disappointed is still strong.

She's moping in her canyon on Europa, thinking miserably about her Father's abandonment and contemplating how quickly she can search the entire Galaxy, or even the Canis Major Overdensity, when a thought strikes her. The rumors circulating on the “Angel Radio” claim Raphael is on Earth. If anyone would know where their Father was it would be an Archangel wouldn't it?

Back on Earth, she tries to call Sam, cursing herself for not taking down Dean's number the last time she saw him. After several attempts, about sixteen which she suspects is a few more that common social courtesy would dictate, she gives up and reluctantly goes to Bobby Singer’s home.

“Bobby Singer?” she calls from the living room, not bothering to stand outside or knock, like she knows is the more polite thing to do.

“The Hell are you doing here?” the man demands as he comes around the corner, from the dining room.

“I need the brother's help, but Sam will not answer his phone, and I haven't got Dean's number. Can you tell me where they are?” she asks.

“So what, you need my help now?” Bobby raises an eyebrow at her.

“That's what I said, yes.” she pretends she doesn't understand what he mean because she doesn't like fighting to justify things that are beyond her control just because the humans are being particularly unreasonable that day. It's like the vessel issue all over again, only now the man is taking it personal.

Bobby huffs out a derisive little laugh. “Well ain't that funny.”

“I fail to see the humour in my failed attempts to avert the apocalypse,” she scowls.

They have a small scowling match, before Bobby relents with a roll of his eyes. “The last I heard from Dean, he was on his way to a case in Winchendon, Massachusetts. Sam’s-” Castiel flies off. The less time spent in Bobby Singer’s presence at the moment, the better.

Winchendon, Massachusetts is hardly a town, and it doesn't take any measurable amount of time to find the Impala parked out front of the one motel just outside the town limits.

Dean is cleaning the bloodstain from one of his jackets when Castiel lands behind him. She forgets she's supposed to land at least a few feet away. Dean startles when he spots her in the mirror.

“God!” he swears, thumping the sink. “Don't do that!”

“Hello, Dean.” she greeted pleasantly and Dean turns around. Cassie is inches from him.

“Cassie, we've talked about this,” he takes her by the shoulders and moves her back and step. “Personal space.”

“My apologies.” Cassie nods. Dean grabs his jacket and walks toward the bed.

Dean questions how Cassie found him despite the sigil on his chest, and she simply says that Bobby told her where he was. When she asks after Sam, his explanation of “separate vacations” leaves as much to the imagination as her own explanation had.

 

“You find God yet? More importantly, can I have my damn necklace back, please?” he holds out his hand, then notices it's not around her neck. “Hey, where is it!?”

“Worry not, it's safe.” Cassie hooks her finger around the little rope of the necklaces and pulls it over her collar, showing she's hidden in under her shirt. “And no, I haven't found him. That's why I'm here. I need your help.”

“With what? God hunt? Not interested.” Dean dismissed as he continues about his cleaning.

“It's not God. It's someone else.”

“Who?”

“An Archangel. The one who killed me.”

 

Cassie explains to Dean that Raphael is supposed to be on Earth, and that it's the rare opportunity they've been presented with, to question the Archangel for information. Dean goes back over to the sink, picks up his knife and a washcloth, and starts to clean it.

“So, what, you think you can find this dude and he's just gonna spill God's address?”

“Yes, because we are going to trap him and interrogate him.”

 

Dean turns to look at her “So, what, I'm Thelma and you're Louise and we're just going to hold hands and sail off this cliff together?” Cassie stares up at Dean, confused. Dean only walks round the angel and puts the knife away, not bothering to explain the reference. “Give me one good reason why I should do this.” 

“Because you're Michael's vessel and no angel will dare harm you.” Cassie reasons simply.

Dean just looks at Cassie. “Oh, so I'm your bullet shield?”

“I need your help because you are the only one who'll help me. Please,” she tries again.

Dean considers for a seconds. Seeing the pleading expression on his friend's face, he know his choice. “All right, fine. Where is he?”

“Maine. Let's go.” Castiel reaches out to touch Dean's chest with her palm.

“Whoa!” Dean jumps back.

Castiel pulls her hand away. “What?!”

“Last time you zapped me someplace I didn't poop for a week. We're driving.”

“Okay?”

Dean hurries his post-hunt cleaning routine and checks out of his motel room just after midnight, when he gets back to the Impala, Cassie has finishes loading Deans stuff in the trunk for him and is sitting patiently in the back seat. Dean gets an idea.

“Hey Cassie.” Dean grins as he slipped into the driver's seat, turning around to face her. “Say “shotgun”.”

“Shot… gun?” Cassie complies hesitantly.

“Alright, now you've called shotgun, that mean you come sit up front next to the driver's seat. C’mon.”

Cassie studies the wiley expression on Dean’s face, and decides to play along. Rather than getting out of the car and moving to the front seat, the way Dean might expect, she flutters her wings ever so slightly, and pops directly into the seat next to Dean's.

“Son of bitch!” Dean jumps. “Don't do that!” Dean says but he he's still smiling, so Cassie doesn't think he's too mad.

“This is where I say “got you”, correct?”

“Ha, yeah.” Dean laughs as he backs out of the parking space and head out onto the highway. “Alright. Road trip lesson number one: calling shotgun. Lesson two, don't pop in like that when I'm driving. At least not the front seat.”

“Alright Dean.” Cassie agrees.

“Lesson three,” Dean flips on the radio. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts her cakehole. You ever heard of... Led Zeppelin? That's an easy one.”

“I haven't.” she shakes her head.

“This is gonna be a fun trip.” Dean smiled his cheshire smile. “Alright, there’s a box down by your feet, pick a tape that says Led Zeppelin.”

The trip from Winchendon, Massachusetts to Waterville, Maine is only about four hours, which Dean spend thoroughly educating Cassie in Classic Rock and other trivial things about the modern age. When they arrive just before five in the morning, the first thing Dean does is find a motel to catch his four hours of sleep (which Cassie spends watching TV on low volume because she “better not look at Dean for more than two seconds every hour, no he doesn't care what else she does in the mean time, but he better not wake up to her staring at him!”). It's not until they arrive at their destination, the sheriff's office of Waterville, later that morning that Dean thinks to ask why this is where they need to be.

“A deputy sheriff laid eyes on the archangel.” Cassie says, stepping out of the impala and coming to stand by Dean.

“And he still has eyes? All right, what's the plan?”

“We'll tell the officer that he witnessed an angel of the Lord, and the officer will tell us where the angel is.”

“Seriously? You're going to walk in there and tell him the truth?”

“Why not?” 

“Because he's human, you're, like, twelve as far as anyone with eyes can tell, and I've got a fake FBI badge in my pocket.” Dean hands her a small red wallet. “This is yours by the way, it was all supposed to be for Claire and Jimmy, but it’ll works out the same. And the ID and credit cards were done by a friend of Bobby’s, they were expensive so don't loose them.”

“Hm. So what's your plan?” She questions as she opens the wallet and examine it contents. Inside are a couple of hundred-dollar gift cards, several crdit card made out to one Jacob Smith, a fifty dollars bill, and an ID with her face, or she supposes Claire’s, that identifies her as Cassandra Smith.

“We're gonna lie.” Dean smirks. Looking Cassie over and before straightening the upturned collar of her shirt. “Tuck in your shirt.”

“Why are we going to lie?” Cassie scowl, confused. She slips the wallet into her pocket and tucks the end of her shirt into her jeans. She hands her angel blade to Dean for the time being.

“Because that's how you become president.” Dean answered sarcastically, slipping it blade up his sleeve where he's seen the angels hide their own, and is surprised at how easily it stays. “Don't you wanna be president when you grow up, Cassie?”

“No, Dean. I don-”

“Come on.” Dean rolls his eyes as he walks off. Cassie misses the smile her ignorance brings to Dean's lips.  
\----

“Deputy Framingham? Hi. Alonzo Mosely, FBI.” Dean holds up his fake badge to the deputy. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Yeah, sure. Talk here, though. Hearing's all blown to hell in this one.” Framingham points to his left ear, and then he takes notice of Cassie, standing next to Dean, staring openly at the him in her soul-searching way that's never not unsettling. “and who’s... this?”

“Oh, this issss- my daughter. School let out early today, and my wife couldn't get her.Hey, you think she can sit somewhere while we talk?”

“What?” Cassie’s stare turn into a glare as she redirects it at Dean. “But I hav-”

“Cassie, don't argue with me, you aren’t old enough,” he gives her a pointed look, “And you don't have a badge. You can't be there for the official stuff, I've told you that.”

“No, Dea-”

“Cassie-”

“Hey, it's alright,” Deputy Framingham cuts in, trying to defuse the situation. “There's some chairs outside my office. C’mon.”

Officer Framingham leads them to his office and Castiel is offered a seat, which she begrudgingly takes, admitting to herself that no, the officer isn't going to speak to her. Under any circumstances. For the first time, but not for the last, Castiel wishes she's taken Jimmy Novak at his word, and taken him as her vessel. She entertains the idea for a moment, of being able to look everyone in the eyes and know she is respected. In a fight she wouldn't be over powered, and she wouldn't have to rely on her agility alone. She damn well wouldn't be sitting in this chair, she'd be in there with Dean accomplishing her goals herself, and not relying on someone else. And Dean, Dean would see her as an equal, he would see her as- well it doesn't matter, what he would do if she was in the vessel of Jimmy. It wasn't worth entertaining.

In attempts to distract herself from the thoughts of her vessel, she observes the humans as they go about they're jobs, rushing past her up and down the hall with manilla folders and baggies full of evidence. She wonders if any of them have noticed the signs that The End has begun. She wonders where each will be when things truly begin to turn for the worst. Will they be home with their families, or here among they're cowork? She comes to the conclusion that they would all survive much longer if they were among other officers of the law who were all armed and well trained in combat, but they, being human, would much more prefer to take their chances with their families. Castiel thinks if Lucifer were to succeed, she would rather spend the last of her days with Dean- and Sam but if Lucifer were to succeed, Sam wouldn't be... around any longer- rather than her siblings, even though her siblings would be the safer option, and she wonders what that says about herself.

“Well you're thinkin’ hard about something.” says a woman who's come to stand in front of Deputy Framingham’s door.

“I am.” Castiel says, continuing to look past the woman towards the front desk where several officers have congregated to discuss something.

The officer follows the gaze. “Pretty cool isn't it. You wanna work in law when you grow up?”

“The temperature is adequate, and I believe the answer is that I want to be the president.”

“Politics eh,” the woman nods agreeably with a soft smile. She takes a seat next to Castiel, setting a manila envelope with deputy Framingham’s name on it in her lap. “So wat’cha waiting on?”

“My father is speaking with the Deputy-Sherrif. He’s FBI.” Castiel feels an odd mix of anxiety and pride when the lie rolls off her tongue with little trouble.

Still looking at the gathering of people near the front desk, Castiel watches as one of them, a man, break off from the group and heads towards them, his expression grave. He stops when he gets to them. He smiles and Castiel, but it falters and so he quickly turns to his fellow officer. “Hey, Palmer, can I talk to you?” he gestures for her to stand.

Officer Palmer complies and they both walk a few feet away to what Castiel understands would put her out hearing range if they whispered, and she were human. Has it stands, she doesn't care what they're talking about and so she doesn't bother to listen, instead turning her gaze in the other direction of the halway. Nothing is happening in this direction.

Castiel turns her thoughts to what she and Dean will do once they've located the archangel, and her growing worries that Dean won't be able to gather the necessary information without her. Though, she reasons, it's not entirely fair of her to sit here and doubt her friend, but expect only the utmost respect from him. He may only be a human, but she is only a child to him, however powerful. They are going to have learn to respect each other better aren't they?

“...Claire Novak…”

Castiel’s head wipes around to face the one who'd whispered her vessels name, the motion startling the two officers. The three of them stare at each other in a tense stand off. Castiel is unsure of what to do, if these where monstrous enemies, and not just misguided civilians, she would smite them on the spot. Her eyes dart to officer Framingham’s door and back to the officers. The men and women gathered near the front desk are watching tensely now too she notes.

“Claire,” officer Palmer starts softly, “It's gonna be okay honey-”

Whether its an overcompination or not, it doesn't matter, because she has drawn the attention of the entire Sheiriff’s office with her vessels face, and there is no feasible way she and Dean can sneak their way out. Cassie snaps her fingers and everyone drops. Well, not exactly drops, she wouldn't want them to hurt themselves. They all become impossibly drowsy, sink to the floor, lay down, and sleep.

She hears a muffled “the fuck!?” from behind officers Framingham’s door, and then Dean appears, looking panniced. His head wipes around, looking for danger. His gun is drawn. When all he spots is Cassie standing amid the many unconscious figures, he relaxes. “The Hell did you do?”

Cassie explains the situation, and how this seemed the easiest way to avoid unnecessary conflict with the humans.

“When are they gonna wake up?”

“Five or so minute. Did you get the information?”

“Yeah just barely.” Dean says, starting down hall towards the doors. “You gonna erase the security tapes too?”

She quick does so with a thought as she follows him out the door. “It is done.”

“Man I wonder what they're gonna a think of this one…”

“So what did you find out?” she asks, instead of answering what she's proud to understand was a rhetorical question.

“Pretty sure our guy’s at St. Pete's hospital. Apparently during a riot he was praying to fireball.”

“The vessel.” Castiel understands. They reach the impala across the street and get in.

“Yup.”  
\---

They gain nothing from the hospital visit other than Dean learning that he'll suffer more if he says yes to Michael than even Donnie Finneman is suffering now. They return to the abandoned house that's Dean has chosen for his base shortly after, and Cassie makes a short trip to Jerusalem for the Holy oil she's going to need to trap the Archangel.

“Okay, so we trap Raphael with a nice vinaigrette?” Dean asks when she explained where she was and why. 

“No.” Why is it always skepticism with him?

“So this ritual of yours,” Dean sobers up mercifully. “When does it gotta go down?”

“Sunrise,” the angel answer, sitting down now that she's got nothing else to do but wait.

“Tell me something. You keep saying we're gonna trap this guy. Isn't that kinda like trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net?”

“No, it's harder.”

“Do we have any chance of surviving this?”

“You do.” She shrugs. She has no delusions she can get away before her brother comes after her. Really she's not sure why she's bothering. Even if she learns of Father’s whereabouts, she's a dead man- woman? Girl?- walking.

“So odds are you're probably gonna die again in the morning?”

“Yes.”

Dean can see she doesn't want to talk about it. But… “Well. Last night on Earth. What are your plans?”

“I just thought I'd sit here quietly?”

“Really?” Dean giver her a look “There's nothing you wanna do? Uhh,” Jeez what do kids do when they're gonna die? Disneyland? Oh, nice, there’s a great train of thought Dean. “You wanna go see a movie or something?”

“Why?”

“Because no one spends there last night on Earth sitting in a chair. C’mon.” He shakes the back of her chair and little to get her moving.

“Shotgun.” she says as she stands, but without any of the enthusiasm she’s suposed to have, which makes Dean snort anyway.

Dean drives them around town for a little while, until he finally spots a movie theater open at this time of night. Cassie, thank… God, he guesses, knows what movies are, but she's got no idea how to just pick one, so Dean and her are standing in front of the ticket booth for five whole minutes while she points at each little poster behind the worker’s head going, “And what's that one about? And that one? What about that one?” As Dean tried his best to explain from the few trailers he's seen on TV recently what each movies is about.

The old guy in the ticket window answers most of her questions anyway, so when she points at the one that reads Ponyo, Dean only has to shake his head and shrug his shoulders at the guy, before the man answers. “Oh, my daughter says that's a cute one. It's about a little fish who makes a friend with a human and wants to spend time with him as a human despite her dad-”

“Is the entire movie animitated as the poster would suggest?” Cassie ask, more interested in seeing how something with no live people could possibly play out. Would it have sound? Would it run smoothly, or would the drawn outlines flickers like they do in flip books of bouncing balls? Surely it would have to be animated well or else it wouldn't have been released to the public. She doesn't give the man a chance to answer before she turns to Dean and tells him that's the one she wants to see.

Dean sign, “Man I was hopping you'd pick an action movie. You're lucky it's your night.”

“I'm going to die Dean, I hardly see how that makes me lucky.”

Dean is exchanging the money for the tickets when Cassie says this, and sees the man's head briefly snap in her direction and face change from shock to I’m-totally-not-pitying-her as quickly as he can.

“Don't worry.” Dean assure the ticket man quickly, while cursing Cassie for making him tell the lie he's about to tell. “She's not gonna die, she just... starts chemo in the morning.”

Dean takes the tickets and pushes the angle towards the door to the theater.

“Jeez Cassie,” Dean hisses. “You don't go advertising you're gonna die like that. You know how dirty I feel having to lie about cancer.”

“As opposed to lying about being FBI?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, there's a huge difference!”

“My apologies.” She nods.

The movie isn't half as bad as Dean was expecting. It turned out to be a Miyazaki film, which Dean will never admit to having liked several of growing up, and the ending was sweet. Dean eats most of the popcorn and the candy he bought, but he makes sure the angel at least tried some of both, and in what Dean perceive as an unequal trade, Cassie makes him sit through the entirety of the credits.

“Those people all worked very hard on this production Dean,” she chides him like he's the child. “They deserve as much attention as the voice actors. Especially for such a wonderfully executed product.”  
\---

“Was that all we were going to do?” Cassie asks once they've gotten back to the impala. “Shotgun.”

“Uh, nah. You wanna get ice cream?”

“I don't know Dean.” Cassie deadpans getting into the impala. “I assume the answer is yes.”

“The answer is always yes to ice cream. Unless it's offered to you by a creep trying to get you in his car, then you kick him in the crotch and run.”

“Noted.” Cassie nods seriously.

The only place that's still open serving anything remotely like ice cream is a frozen yogurt place, which Dean passes three times before relenting, and pulling into the parking lot. “Okay, so they place has froufrou crap, but it's close enough. You'll probably like it, you're weird enough.”

“Hello,” the young woman at the register greets them. “Do you want some sample cups?” she hold out two little stacks of sample cups in her palm, which Cassie takes readily and moves to the walls where the froyo spouts are. Dean watches her try a bit of every single flavor, as well as the flavor-combos, while he skips straight to the chocolate, and fills a big cup with it. He’s making his way through the topping bar when Cassie joins him with a cup full of some green flavor.

“What is that? Mint?” He asks. Spooning some white-chocolate chips into his own cup.

“It's pistachio.” 

“Really-”

“There is a bit of the cupcake batter flavor at the bottom.” Cassie informs him.

“That a girl,” Dean beams and then freezes with the spoon halfway back to the chips. He doesn't look at Cassie, or give her a chance to reply to the overly childish praising. “Okay, so now you can pick any of these toppings, I guess,” he tells her and walks briskly over to the cashier.

“So I have a question I've been meaning to ask you.” Dean says at one of the table when their amiable silence starts to grow a little awkward.

“Yes?” she says around a mouth full of froyo and fruit. In true Sam Winchester fashion, she’d only picked the fruit toppings- the tangerine, strawberries, and some other thing Dean couldn't identify. She doesn't object when Dean slips one of his cookies in her cup because God, how do you come for ice cream and get fruit?

“Are you, like the actual you, a boy or a girl?”

“You mean when I'm not in a vessel?”

Dean nods around a mouthful of the admittedly-not-bad froyo.

“I am neither. Angels have no sex, and never had a concept of gender until you humans came along.”

“So like, if you had taken Jimmy as a vessel, would I have needed to switch pronouns?”

“You could do whatever would make you feel more comfortable, I wouldn't care.”

“Hmm,” Dean’s not sure how any of that would make him feel. “So how do you like the ice cream?”

“It's acceptable. Yours?”

“Not as bad as I thought. Okay, so how old are you exactly?”

Cassie thinks for a second “After the first life forms crawled out of the ocean, but before the dinosaurs. I'm not sure how long that is. Several billion, I know. Can I ask you a question Dean?”

“You just did- But you can ask another.” He says when Cassie opens her mouth to protest.

“Hmph. We have done nothing tonight that you yourself would normally do, and I know, as much as you try not to, you treat me like a child sometimes. If I were in the body of Jimmy Novak, rather than Claire, what would we be doing?”

Dean scrapes up the last of his chocolate froyo, as he thinks. “Probably would have taken you to a bar…. Um,” he flashes her a guilty smile. “Probably would've tried to get you laid.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Yeah. Hey, about Claire, she’s not still around, right? Not after you guys got- y’know, blown up?” He's been wondering about that, because it's heard to ask that sort of question without feeling weird, but he might as well ask now that they're on the subject.

“No, this isn't even truly her body, only a copy. She's in Heaven now.” Cassie doesn't look up at the Dean. She doesn't want to see his reaction, so she busies herself with stacking her empty cup in his, placing their spoons in the top one and looking around for the trash can.

“Alright then. One more stop, and we go back to the house.”

The one more stop turns out to be a liquor store, and Cassie has to wait in the car as Dean runs inside. She watches through the windows as her friend grabs a few six-packs of different types of beers, and other larger bottles of she-doesn't-even-know-whats. When Dean stops at one point to, what she suspects is, flirt with some women Castiel scowls and leans into the driver's seat, pressing down on the horn and not letting up until Dean jerks away and mouths “What the Hell?!” at her.

The women says something to Dean with an incredibly displeased expression, and Dean says something back, his expression offended. He walks off, headed for the cashier with his many drinks. The woman looks back out as Cassie. The angel only stares blankly back at her until she slowly turns away mouthing “What the fuck?!” to herself as she walk out of Cassie’s view.

“What the Hell was that Cassie? I almost got her number!” Dean snaps when he gets back to the Impala. “Now she thinks I'm some shit dad about to go home and get drunk in front of my kid.”

“I didn't see the point in letting you waste time on a random woman at a liquor store when we are meant to be ‘hanging out,’” she actually does the air quotes, and Dean hopes to God, literally, to God, that Cassie doesn't mean that the way he thinks she might mean that. Nope, he's not even going down the line of thought where they have to have that talk. No way. Not his job. Not doing it.

They remain silent the rest of the drive. Back in their little abandoned house, Dean starts taking all the booze out of the bag and Cassie stands behind one of the chairs watching.

“Alright, so I don't know how ethical this is, but whatever, you're definitely over twenty-one, and if you don't tell I won't, so,” he makes an open palmed gesture towards the table of drinks. “Dayenu.”

She picks one of the beers which she’d seen Dean drinking before, and pulls the lid off without the help of a bottle opener. She does as she's seen Dean do many times, and takes a large gulp of her drink.

She tries a little bit of all of them, even the red whine and the vodka, and so does Dean of course. He asks her how she likes each of them, and she says she likes the first one the best. It’s not a total lie, it's only that they really all taste the same when you can taste them down to exact molecules their made up of, and she likes the first one best because she knows Dean does as well.

“Man, shoulda got some bread and cheese to go with all this.” Dean laughs to himself, clearly getting tipsy, while they're trying one of the wines.

“Is that a customary thing to do? Eat bread and cheese with wine?” Cassie ask, still not feeling any sort of effect from the alcohol.

“Yeah of you're a prissy-richy snob.” Dean laughs. Cassie makes a noncommittal noise.

“Hey open this.” he hands her one of the beers. She pops the top off without taking the bottle from his hands, and he takes it straight to his mouth. “I had fun tonight by the way. It wasn't my thing, but it was fun.” Dean says after a quiet minute, taking another drink from the beer.

“I enjoyed tonight as well, it was much better than sitting quietly.” Cassie agrees.

“I mean it. I've had more fun with you in the past twenty-four hours than I've had with Sam in years, and you're not that much fun honestly... It's funny, you know, I've been so chained to my family, but now that I'm alone, hell, I'm happy.”

“I'm glad of that Dean.” Cassie smiles, grabbing the bottle of Vodka, intent on seeing if she can get even the littlest bit tipsy tonight.

They're both more than the word “happy” can describe in the morning when they make it out of their confrontation with Raphael alive and entirely unscathed.

The End

“Okay, so, you can pop in tomorrow morning.” Dean tells Cassie over the phone as she stands under a street light next to a long stretch of highway. She watches as a car's headlights come into views over a far hill.

“Yes. I'll just wait here then.”

“Where is “here” exactly, where are you?” The vehicle, an eighteen wheeler, not a car, passes her by and Dean hears it clearly. “Are you out by a street? In the middle of the night?”

“Yes. I'm by the highway outside a small town in Nebraska. I'm not going to get kidnapped Dean, I'm not a child.” she says harshly. She thought he was over this.

“Yeah I'm sure you'll be fine, doesn't mean it don't look weird. Go find a time zone with the a blue sky and sit in a park or something. Lesson number nine, okay, be a little normal for other people's sake.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cassie sighs before hanging up.

Oh why not, she thinks to herself as she spreads her wings and flies towards Europe.  
\----

“Fucking Zacha-fucking-riah.” Dean grumbles under his breath as he pulls off the roads and into Bobby’s property. “Sending me to the fucking end of the world.”

The places looks even more shitty that it did back in ‘09 and Dean greatly fears what he's going to find inside. Even so he goes inside without bothering to knock, calling out for his friend all the same. The inside is just as trashed as the outside, a everything is covered in a thick layer of dust. Well Dean can't says he's surprised Bobby isn't here. It's the end of it world, if Bobby were here, there's no way Dean would have just been allowed to drive right up, let alone walk in without meet ing the end of any kind of weapon. But it's Bobby, he’s gotta be out there-

Dean spots Bobby’s wheelchairs, toppled to one side, riddled with bullet holes and blood. Dean doesn't spend time thinking about, he moves through the house, searching for every hidden hiding place Dean knows about in search of some kind of hint as to where anyone might be.

It's in the little compartment hidden in the chimney shelf that Dean finds his answer. Along with his dad's journal- which is what tells him this is exactly the right thing to find- is a single picture. In the picture are three men Dean doesn't know, Bobby sitting front and center with a rifle in his hands, and on their right is a sight that absolutely floors Dean. It's Castiel, looking as young as she ever does, with her hair cropped short- like as short as Dean’s- she's wearing cargo pants and a black tanktop, and holding a… is that a fucking submachine gun!? All are scowling grimly at the camera and Dean’s pulling out maps in a desperate flurry that instant, trying to figure out where the Hell Camp Chitaqua is.  
\---

Dean wastes no time in escaping after his little chat with his future self, and searching out a familiar- and more friendly- face.

It's Chuck, and “Risa”, who find him.

“Oh, jeez. I'm getting busted for stuff I haven't even done yet.” Dean mutters as Risa storms off.

“What?” Chuck looks up at him, confused.

“Uh, never mind. Hey, Chuck, is...Cassie still here?”

 

“Cassie?” Chuck asks, voice heavy with scepticism.

“Yeah,” Dean replied harshly. “Cassie. Short. Blond. You thought she was a grown man at one point.”

“Yeah. Castiel is up in her cabin.” Chuck directs him towards a cabin, eyeing him like Dean’s lost his mind. Dean for his part ignores this, because, really, he’s not the Dean that'll have to deal with it.

Cassie’s cabin, as Dean approaches, doesn't appear be any different from a others. It's just as old, dirty, and worn down as the rest, and is even sporting a broken window that no one's bothered to boards up. Once on the small patio of the cabin, Dean sees that the door is opened and strings of beads are hanging down in a door frame. Their stillness a clear indication that no one has either entries or left for some time. The smell of weed is hanging heavy in the air even from a distance, but here it's a bit overwhelming, and somethings in Dean's stomach starts the naw at his insides.

“Hey Cassie, you home?” Dean calls as he walks through the beads, making more noise with them than necessary to announce his arrival.

Despite the open door and one broken window, the rest of the cabin is incredibly dark, and hot, with all other windows being covered by curtains, and in one window’s case, a thick brown blanket. It's actually kinda creepy, and Dean hesitates at a door, wishing that future him hadn't take all his weapons and that he still had something on him.

The front room he’s entered is a living room, dining room, and kitchen all rolled into one, decorated with little more that a moth-eaten couch in the “living room” and a small table with two mismatched chairs in the “dining room” in way of furniture. That is not all there is though, because the place is a mess. There are knifes and guns laid out on the small table, and the kitchen counter behind that. The wall to his left is painted a bright sky blue with much of the paint have found its messy way across the floor, as if someone had haphazardly tried to bring some life to the dreary place as some point, but given it up all too soon. The table and chair have also been poorly painted with the same blue paint.

There are several books piled up in the center of the living room in the mockery of a cardcastle that nearly reaches six feet. Then there were board games scattered across the rotting wood floor, like truly and completely scattered. The boards for several games, including Scrabble, Sorry, Chess, Candy Land, and many, many others were pushed together and propped upright with various objects so that they made a kind of wide barricade around the stacked bookcastle. The pieces to all these games on a other hands, lay all around the pretend fortress like a minefield, extending all the way to the front door so that anyone who tried to enter would either hurt their feet if they were dumb enough to walk into the dark cabin without shoes, or make quite a lot of noise anyway crunching the prices if they were.

What the Hell was Cassie up too?

Cautiously Dean stepped farther inside, blindly searching the wall for a light switch, when he got no answer from the angel. He found no switch- probably wouldn't have worked anyway, he thought- and stepped farther inside.

“Cas- fuck!”

Dean thought he could see well enough in the darkness, but he turned out to be very, very wrong because right on his third step into the room he was tripped up on a cord of fishing wire strung out only an inch off the floor in front of a doorway. Dean just managed to catch himself from falling over, but he didn't have any time to enjoy this small bit of luck because as soon as his foot had pulled the wires, though he himself couldn't see it, several more wire attached to that one had been pulled and all the game boards were jerk harshly from there place around books. The boards in turn, came colliding with the castle, and Dean found himself being tackled to the ground by thick bricks of unforgiving paper.

That of course wasn't the worst of it. Anyone who's ever stepped on a lego can understand only a fraction of the pain Dean felt as he was tackled to the ground, colliding with hundreds of pointy plastic game pieces. They dug harshly into every inch of Dean's side and back and neck and legs, while the books above did the same to his stomach and chest. Dean's too shocked to do anything but lay there suffering for a long minute because ow.

When he does finally collected his thoughts, along with his breath, he shouts.

“Castiel what the fuck!? Where are you?!”

Careful of immense pain he's now in, Dean pushed his way free of the pile of books, watching a tall teenage girl walk out of the darkened hallway into the dimly lit living area. She's got blond hair just past her shoulders that's been pulled into little braids on one side, black eyeliner on her eyes, and wearing a green crop top and jean short-shorts that leave almost nothing the imagination. The girl crosses her bare arms, leans against the wall and smirks.

Oh dear Lord please don't be-

“Ha, damn Hasselhoff. You haven't been that easy in years.” she says, and Dean knows that's Cassie. Somehow this teenage… delinquent, was Castiel.

“Cassie!?” Dean expression is the picture of pure bewilderment. “What the Hell?”

Cassie’s own expression shifted to mirror Deans as she really looks at him in what Dean feels is a poor mockery of her usual soul-searching look, that looks so wrong on her more-grown face.

“Well hel-lo stranger,” she sang.

“What?” is all he can say. Like an idiot.

“You...are not you. Not now you, anyway.” she pushes off the wall and walks closer, flipping on a light switch as she passes. She kicks game pieces out of the way with her bare feet as she goes.

 

“No! Yeah. Yes, exactly.” Dean stumbled over his words as Cassie gets a little too close. He notices now with better lighting that her ears have been perching in several places along with all the other terrible changes. A game piece crunches under his boot as he takes a step back.

“What year are you from?” she asks, taking a drag of the joint in her hand.

“2009... Ah- are you actually getting high off that?” 

“Little bit. Who did this to you? Zachariah?” Well at least she still gets right down to business, thank God for that.

“Yes. What are you wearing?” What does it matter? Why is he asking?

“Something light. Summer’s hot.” Another drag. She looks him up and down again. “This is interesting.”

“Oh, yeah, it's friggin' fascinating.” Dean growls, his confusion at the situation mixing badly with Castiel’s lack of conser. “So, why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?”

Castiel’s eyes practically rolls out of her head at that, the smirk, it's almost a snarl really, coming back to her lips. “I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I'm sorry,” she shrugs her shoulder sharply. “No dice.”

“What d’you mean no dice? What the Hell is wrong with you!?”

Castiel shrugged slower this time. Looking past Dean shoulder, she says somberly. “I grew up.”

“Yeah, I see that. What's with that by a way? Though angels vessels didn't age.”

“Tch. Dean, I'm not an angel anymore. I went mortal.”

“What do you mea- How?” he shouts.

“I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving.” Castiel crosses her arms, moving to sit down in one of the little chairs at the dining table. “But when they bailed, my mojo just kind of- psshhew!- drained away. And now, you know, I'm practically human. I mean, Dean, I really am just a child now. No one's let me do anything of importance for years, and when I accompanied my You- future you- on a mission last year, I broke my leg. Got laid up for two month, and haven't seen the outside of camp since.

 

“Wow.” Dean comes to sit down with her.

“Yeah.” The joint comes to her lips again.

“Well hey,” Dean looks, feeling as far out of his element as he is his own time, when his eyes land on the mess in a living room. “What's with a booby trap?”

“I get bored. No one plays games anymore so no one misses them, and someone tries to walk in and steal my stash at least once a week.” Castiel explains.

“Ah.” Dean nods, like he actually understands, then decides a subject change was in order. “So, I got nothing to do until Dick Me gets back, and I'm not technically supposed to be seen by anyone out there. You wanna scrap up enough pieces and play me in…” Dean's eyes scan the now easily distinguishable pieces, before his eyes land on a round game board. “Ooh. Times to Remember.”

“Really? Game about modern pop culture, you think you haven't made me play that already?” She smirk.

“I since a challenge.” Dean smirks himself, finally falling into an easy and familiar roll.

They play a few rounds, in which Cassie doesn't in fact beat him every time-just barely mind you. He give up eventually vowing to kick her ass in the past when he gets back home. While Dean's tossing the game pieces back on the floor and clearing himself a path to the couch, Cassie disappears into the back and returns with a bottle of bourbon. She stops off in her little kitchen to grab a couple of cups from the cabinets and bag of probably stale trail mix before joining him on the couch.

Dean doesn't question if she should be drinking the bourbon given she’s pretty much a sixteen years old girl, but instead refills her cup for her when she downs the first.

“One of those kinda days?” He jokes, but it falls flat as she looks at him.

“One of those kinda lives,” She says, then stares suspiciously into nothing. “This reminds me of something.”

"What does?” Dean asks.

“This- you and me, sitting in an empty house- right, ha.” she looks at him with self-deprecating amusement. “Terrible human memory I've got. This is just like the night before we summoned Raphael. Or- oops, have you done that yet?” she laughs like she doesn't care if she's just ruined the timeline by spoiling even more of the future for Dean.

“Yeah, last time I saw you actually, a couple of weeks ago.”

“Wow. That was forever ago for me. That's one of my favorites. Memories, I mean. That whole night.” And suddenly she's all lit up, more than Dean ever seen her, her smile wide as a reminisces. “I've got a Ponyo DVD around here somewhere that I lifted from a store way back when I still had my mojo and we were still a team, but we can't actually watch it anymore.”

Cassie keep the conversation up for a while, telling him about all the other things future him had taught her about pop culture, insisting he remembers to teach these thing to past her.

“Don't laugh! Because for all we know, you only taught them to me because I'm telling you about you teaching them to me now, and you can't mess up the time stream so frivolously Dean.”

“Fine, okay, I'll absolutely remember to teach you everything. But not until I've beaten you in Times to Remember at least at dozen times!”

“Oh,” Cassie expression transforms into on of mock pity and amusement. “Poor past me! She's going to have to suffer so much!”

“Hey you brought it on yourself.” Dean laughs. “If you-you hadn't kicked past-me’s ass, past-you wouldn't suffer from future-me.”

Cassie busted out laughing as Dean speaks, and quickly takes the cup from his hands “That sentence didn't make any since, Dean!”

“Sure it did! And I'm not drunk!” He makes a half-hearted swipe to get his cup back, but leaves it alone when she downs it instead.

It's getting close to dusk by the time anyone from the outside disturbs them, and when they do, it's unsurprisingly future Dean. He looks pissed off when he spots Dean, but all he says is “At least you stayed out of sight,” before turning on the angel and barking “Castiel you look like a slut, go put something decent on, I'm calling a meeting.”

Cassie stands, and practically growls out “Fucking hello to you too! Thanks for telling me about your little time traveling dilemma by the way!” As she stomps off around the corner and out of the sight of the Dean sitting on the couch. “It's so great to be inclu-” There's a slam of a door, a muffled shriek, and then the distinct sound of it being ripped back open. “Included!” Cassie finishes, then slams the door again for good measure.

Dean sits on the couch unmoving, staring at the worn and furious face that's glaring off towards Cassie. That one day this might be his own face, terrifies him. “What the- what the hell was that!? The Hell did she do to you!?” He shouts, standing abruptly to glare himself in the eyes.

“Well she looks like a slut, and it's not what she's done, it's never what she's done, it's what I've done- it's always me isn't it!” He's suddenly shouting in the direction Cassie’s gone. “Well you'll love this Angel Face, so hurry up!”

Dean's heart rips into pieces at this angry thing he's apparently become, terrified at the way he’s suddenly behaving. He doesn't want his first instinct upon seeing his friends to be hurtling insults at her! Or her’s to be furious shouts when she sees him. It’s all just too… ugly. The whole situation. He doesn't think he could take letting that happened, now that he knows it might. He tries, for a second, to imagine how he could, but he can't wrap his mind around living in a world where he didn't care about Cassie. At some point she'd gone from this annoying little nuisance to a really good friend, maybe one of his best, and even at end of the world he couldn't imagine being able to rage at her to the point they became- well, what they'd become. It wants right. That wasn't his Angel, and this Dean wasn't him, and it wasn't right!

Dean's still reeling for the events in Cassie’s cabin as he and his older self- he's starting to think of him more as an alternate self rather that his future, because he doesn't want this future- sit in the HQ, which is actually just the Dean's cabin’s dining room. But then the other Dean springs it on him that he's got the Colt, and he plans to shoot the Devil, and Dean's at least a little distracted from his growing sense of dread.

After that the others show up. It's a relatively small group consisting of Risa, Chuck, a few others Dean doesn't know, and Cassie who's properly...ish dressed now in jeans and a T-shirt that reads, to the shock of both Dean and and apparently Chuck going by the way he balks at her, “God works in mysterious ways… oh wait. No he doesn't” with the atheist’s logo on it. The makeup around her eyes looks like it's might have smudged between now and the last time he saw her, and he wonders if she'd been crying. He wouldn't blame her, and he bumps shoulders with her in a hopefully supportive way when she sits down. When she bumps her shoulder back he knows it worked.

There's a lot of bickering in between the very little getting done, and at one point Castiel outright laughs at something the younger Dean says despite the tense circumstances. “What?” she says when the older Dean shoots her a look. “I like how you used it be.”

“Yeah well, how I used a be didn't exactly get us anywhere good now did it? Lucifer is here.” The other Dean goes on, putting the room back into focus without waiting for a response. “Now. I know the block and I know the building.

“Oh, good- it's right in the middle of a hot zone! You’ll all died quickly, that's nice!” Cassie speaks up, not willing to let it rest.

“Crawling with Croats, yeah. You saying my plan is reckless?” Other Dean says, seemingly trying not to raise his voice and argue with her in front of everyone.

“Are you saying you’re gonna, what? Walk in, straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Croats, and shoot the devil in the head?”

“Yes.” say the other Dean with stubborn finality, as if I were a need to make it work.

“Okay, if you don't like 'reckless', I could use 'insouciant', maybe!” Cassie shouts, trying to rile him up.

The younger Dean watches his counterpart sigh, giving up the fight, and closing eyes for a second. He opens them again, and looks surprisingly gently at Castiel. “Will you come with me?”

Castiel looks at her Dean, surprise evident. She sighs in defeat as well, and says, the softest she's spoken to her own Dean since younger had arrived, “Of course, Dean. But why is he?” She nods towards the younger Dean, clearly having read something in the situation he had not. “I mean, he's you five years ago. If something happens to him, you're gone, right?”

“He's coming,” Other Dean's demeanor of unquestionable authority returns. “There's something he's gotta see.”

“Oh. Okay.” she says, then stands. Dean watches her face, and doesn't understand why she suddenly looks so sad. Mad, he would get. Even maybe excited to see some action, but sad? “Well, uh. I'll get the grunts moving then.”

“We're loaded and on the road by midnight.” Dean says absently, studying his map as the others rise to follow the former angel out of the cabin.

 

Dean just sort of… floats around the camp for an hour or two while people rush around him getting ready for their latest mission. His mind can only focus on one thing, and that's what Other Dean told him after the meeting. That Sammy said yes. Sammy just… He said yes, and Dean hadn't been there to help. To stop him. And now he was going to kill him. But not him-him, his future him, who was going to make him look at Sammy, and fuck, he couldn't do that! He couldn't do anything like that! He tried to think of ways to stop the other Dean from killing Sammy, and then tried to come up with a way to eradicate this entire timeline once he got back home. First things first, was getting back with Sammy, and never ever going to Detroit, but… really it could just happen some other way…

 

He's wandered into the area behind the cabins close to where he'd first arrived, and hadn't realised he'd drifted in the direction of the wrecked Impala until he spotted her. Cassie was there too, digging through the back seat and dumping an impressive amount of junk on the ground as she went.

“What are you doing?” He asked as he came up to her. Putting his worries out off his mind as best he could.

She only stops in her search briefly to look and see which him it was, before she resumes her searching. Dean looks at the mess littering the ground around them and realised he doesn't know what half this stuff is. Well, he can tell what things are, there are CDs, books, some necklaces, teddybears, and cell phones too. There's even a broken guitar in the front seat he hadn't noticed before, but none of this stuff is his, so why's it in the impala?

“I'm looking for something. But… did I toss it in the trunk…?” She trails off, before getting out and swinging the driver's side door open so she can open the trunk from there.

“And... what's with all the junk?” He asks, following the angel to the back, seeing that the trunk is filled with the same random assortment as well.

“Every body dumps stuff in here when they're tired of thinking about the way thing used to be. Or when someone dies. Some of they're stuff, if it's not taken by others, gets dumped in here. ‘Cause that way it's not completely gone, but you don't have a look at it all time the and feel like shit.” she explains.

After a brief and unsatisfactory glance at the pile on top compartment of the trunk, Cassie reaches in and with one long sweep of her arms pulls half the contents onto the ground so she can lifts the hatch, exposing the compartment underneath.

“And what are you looking for?” Dean asks, wondering if she's going to pick any of this stuff up, or leave it to someone else. Then he sees that the hidden compartment where he used to store all his weaponry isn't nearly as cluttered at the rest of the car. And he recognizes the things that are in here too. There's his dad's jacket, Sam’s amulet, his family pictures he's had all his life scattered around, some of Sam's law books even, a flask he thinks is Bobby’s, and plenty of other stuff including a familiar red wallet on top of a grey pea coat.

“Ah!” Cassie exclaims, smiling wide, plucking up the worn thing, ignoring the wallet. “There you are!” She quickly pulls the coat around so she can slip it on. The coat used to be somewhat big on her, but it fits her a little small now. She test it by trying to move her arms around in all directions, before deciding with a deject sigh that it just didn't fit, and pulls it back off to tie it around her boney waist instead.

“When’d you get that back?” Dean asks,bending down to help as she starts none-so gently tossing everyone’s stuff back into the impala.

“When Bobby died… Well, we weren't just gonna leave all his stuff behind. I wore it until it stopped fitting, then it pissed me off to look at it, because looking at it reminded me I was aging and useless, and I tossed it in here.” She slams the trunk hard once they’d gotten everything back in. Then she slams the car doors after that, and Dean doesn't ask why she feels the need to retrieve her coat, which must mean more to to her then she's letting on, from its hiding place for this mission because he suddenly thinks he knows why Other Dean had invited her along despite her claims of having always been left behind.

Dean spends the rest of the night on the couch in Cassie’s cabin, getting a nap in before midnight, anticipating a long drive ahead of them. Chuck finds them all as they're headed out, and gives Dean some desperate advice about hoarding toilet paper, as he hoisted himself into the passenger seat of Cassie big black pickup. Then, before Dean can close the door on him, he looks past the hunter at Cassie sitting in the driver's seat watching her own Dean march to the front of the precession.

“Hey Castiel…” he waits until she's looking at him, then seems to falter. “Uh… For what it's worth, I think you did a damn good job kiddo.”

“With what?” She’s asks with venom, as if the idea she could ever do a good job with anything was the most condescending joke she'd ever heard.

“With Dean,” the prophet respond hesitantly, then seems to decide he knows what he wants to say, and continues with more conviction. “You think you were useless, but even though you fought with him constantly, you always made him stop when he was going too far with someone, you know? I mean, even though half the time it was just redirecting him at you. You saved a lot of people’s asses.

“Dean’s too. Actually. I think he'd have driven himself insane with guilt if he took out even half the anger he takes out you on someone else. So, yeah, if no one's said it. Thanks for having his back.” Then he turned to Dean “Take care of her.”

He gave his last command with an air of one not to be argued with, like a father entrusting a stranger with their child, he thinks, and then his brains briefly stutters to a stop, because where’d had that thought come from? He watches Chuck walk away, and closes the door, brain restarting as the prophet walks into the darkness of the night back towards the camp. Obviously Chuck had meant ‘when you get back to your time, take care of your Castiel’ because his time here was winding down, and he wasn't going to be much good taking care of her for long was he? Hell, Zacharia could zap him back ‘09 mid battle when they got to Detroit for all he knew.

He watches the cars ahead of them, one by one as they come to life, and drive off. He'd been slightly surprised when Cassie had said he'd be driving with her, and more so when he realised she meant she'd be the one driving. He wonders, as Cassie takes her foot off the brake and follows the jeep in from of them, how much of a part he'd had in teaching her to drive, and how much she'd picked up on her own out of necessity. She must have been doing it enough, despite her recent lack of practice, judging by how comfortable she was- right hand holding the steering wheel loosely, left arm resting on the open window, and man, were they picking up speed quick.

He has a brief thought of sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala on a long stretch if empty highway, watching a younger Cassie in the driver's seat, stone faced and serious as she shifts into gear, and ignores his warning to push the gas gently. Instead he imagines her flooring it, and immediately slamming the breaks, scowling at the wheel, and then at Dean, because no way would he not crack up at that. Dean remembers Sam doing that multiple times when he’d been learning and Dean had been teaching him. He wonders if it had really gone like that, or if she had been easy to teach. If he'd actually thought her at all. He… kinda hopes he did. It's a nice image it make. And teaching Cassie human things is always good for a laugh, isn't it?

Wondering about his, or rather, his counterpart’s, part in Castiel’s driving education, reminds him of wondering about Chuck and the things he'd said, and he opens his mouth to ask ‘what's up with you and Chuck,’ but what comes out is they much stronger thought “Why did you stay with him?”

“What?” she asks, shooting his a quick look before she has a turn back to the road. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Fuck… what does he mean? “I don't know. Apparently I’m terrible to you. I insult you for nothing, I take shit out on you, and, fuck, I've probably hit you, haven't I?!” Dean's voice grows steadily louder as he questions the fallen angel, because he just can not understand why he could be worth anything, let alone her life. “I mean, no offence, but that probably hurts a Hell of a lot more these days. And you had to know something would happen when you stayed, so why, when the other angels left, why didn't you go with? What was so great about me, that- that made all of this look good!?”

Cassie sits up straighter in her seat, left hand hitting the button to roll up the window as she places both hands properly on the wheel. She sits quietly for a minute. Dean knows she's going to answer, going by the way she bites her lip, opens her mouth, closes it, only to open her mouth again several times, but he just can't figure out what she'll say. What she could possibly think makes him a better choice against Heaven.

“There’s… something you have to understand,” she says, not quite a whisper, but Dean has to really listen to hear what comes next. “When I got… here. To Earth, I was a mindless soldier. A replaceable, unoriginal... puppet. It could have been any angel chosen to guide you- Samandriel, Hannah, anyone- but it was me. I got to come down here, and you taught me right from wrong, and you asked me my opinions, and you trusted me, and I was your friend, and it's my grace seared into your shoulder, and I could-” her voice cracks, and Dean realises she's crying, tears trailing down her cheek in the dark. She wipes at the tears furiously, trying to focus on the road, and not the lump in her throat.

“I could have been mindless, and stupid, and so, so alone for the rest of eternity if I hadn't been the one chose for the mission of guiding you. If I hadn't met you. You're the only reason in the whole damned universe that's I am my own person, and I- You are my everything,” her voice cracks again and she pauses in her speech to take several shuddering breaths, to wiper her eyes, and collect her thoughts. “And that's why I stayed. The host of Heaven couldn't offer me anything in a hundred billion years, that I would trade the rest of my mortal life for, because it is mine and you taught me that, and I want to spend it with you.

“So if he, my Dean, wants to drink himself sick because his brother said yes to the devil, I will clean up the mess. If he wants to destroy the Impala, his most beloved possession, I will make sure he doesn't hurt himself in the process. If he wants to let off steam in a fight. And he always does, I will fight him- a he's never hit me by the way, not even once. And I- I will give him a reason to start a fight, if he wants one, when he walks into my cabin and trips on fishing wire, and I walk out high as kite and half dressed because I know hates this growing body I'm stuck in just as much as me. And If Dean says it's time to go out in a blaze of glory, win or lose, so be it. I'm in. Whatever he needs. Because he and me, we're all we need.”

Castiel doesn't look away from the road, to see Dean reaction to her words. Not as the silence stretches on, and she can feel his does eyes stare burning holes in her skull.

For Dean’s part, his mind's gone blank with shock. What do you say when someone all but admits they're undying love and devotion for you? He turn away when it's clear neither of them are going to say anything more. They watch the car ahead, focused on the red taillights of the jeep off in the distance, thinking, both about their pasts and their futures. 

They're quiet for the rest of the journey.

Whatever the Zacharia intended him to see, whatever conclusion he wanted Dean to come too, Dean almost does, he thinks. Because it's one thing to see Cassie so fucked up, and it's one thing to know Sam's gone, but watching from a distance, the next day, as Cassie prepare for the attack with the others, fully aware of her own impending death, and knowing he's destined to become this sick, broken thing that sends his friends and those that trust him to their death as little more that a distraction. That's too much. There couldn't be anything worse than that. He’s almost willing to say yes.

Almost being the key word, because as soon as the douche angel had pulled Dean  
back to his own time, he starts running his pretentious mouth, and Dean’s natural instincts to disobey and undermine all authorities that are not his dad kicks in, and all he wants to do is kick Junkless so hard in the junk he fell it for the next millennia. As it stands, Cassie pops in and pulls Dean out before Zacharia can follow through on any threats, and Dean finds himself standing in a dark and empty street lit by a single streetlight a little ways away.

“That's pretty nice timing, Cassie.” Dean thanks her.

“We had an appointment.” She responded, her usual monotone not quite so.

Dean wouldn't say the angel was beaming, exactly but he could definitely see the hint of a smirk playing on her lips. He places a hand on her shoulder, taking in her height, or lack thereof, her hair all pulled back onto a single French braid, and her relatively nice attire. He tries not to let the suddenly glaring absence of the pea coat, and her subsequently bare arms bother him, but they do slightly. “Don't you _ever_ change.”

 

I Believe The Children Are Our Future

Cassie spends a brief few days as a porcelain doll, housed in Dean’s duffle in the motel and cushioned safely on all sides by his shirts and jeans. She never finds out about this of course, as Dean swears Sam to secrecy and the anti-christ never shows back up to tell.


End file.
